


Dreaming City

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The city needed music.</em> An A/U inspired by the "Purple Line" MV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming City

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rana Eros (ranalore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore/gifts).



> Written for the 2009 Nuna Fanworks Holiday Fic Exchange. With apologies to Rana for this not being the right kind of crack and heartfelt thanks to Rindy for her thorough beta skills.

_"In the chaotic aftermath of the Exogenic War, the true origins and purpose of New Seoul (the Magic City, the Dreaming City) were forgotten. Less than one hundred years after the war, New Seoul had become little more than a curiosity for leisure travellers and a refuge for the disenfranchised, the decadent, and the dispossessed."_\--A Short History of the Second World. New Tartu : Red Bear University Press, New Era 1615, p. 473.  
\-----

Late afternoon sun angled through the skylights and painted the bed in lines of gold and high-relief shadows. In the stillness, the city screamed: shrill, angry, insane.

Sweating and panting for breath, Changmin crawled out of his nightmare, still hearing echoes of the scream. He twisted to sit up, ran his hands over his face, and squinted at the sunlight patchworked across the bed.

"Go back to sleep," Jaejoong said, muffled by a pillow. He slung his arm over Changmin's stomach and rested his hand heavily on Changmin's hip. Changmin's skin tingled where he touched.

"Could you not do that?" Changmin lifted Jaejoong's hand by the wrist and held it in a pinch until Jaejoong pulled his arm back. Jaejoong frowned and rolled over, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

"Don't tell me you didn't have the same dream," Changmin said, but Jaejoong ignored him. Changmin turned to appeal to Junsu, but Junsu's spot on the bed was empty: crumpled and vacated recently. Suspicions forming, Changmin pursed his lips and glanced at Jaejoong before sliding out of bed.

Changmin followed the shadows out of their corner of the bedroom area, past the glass brick half-wall bounding the other bed -- now empty -- and wandered between the clothes racks as he dressed. The dream haunted him, and he knew Jaejoong couldn't be immune to it, though, Changmin thought resentfully, Jaejoong had had his whole life to get used to such dreams. It had only been a year for Changmin, and he wasn't used to any of it.

Only a year since Jaejoong had touched him for the first time: touched him bare-handed, kissed him, and at the time the skin-tingling sensations were simply part of Jaejoong's allure. Neither of them had known it would mean something else; Jaejoong had only been with other natural-born dreamers before, like Junsu.

Changmin looked down at his hands before thrusting them into his gloves. Jaejoong hated that he wore gloves. "But you don't have any reason to wear them," Jaejoong would protest, and Changmin would reply, "They mark me for what I am. What you made me." Jaejoong never winced at that, but would say, "Not what you are. What you can do."

"And what is that, exactly?" Changmin muttered to himself before visualizing the street where he guessed Junsu would be. Changmin stepped through the air and into the sunset.

\-----

When Junsu emerged from the elevator Changmin was waiting for him, all tightly wound dark energy with wisps of disapproval radiating from him. He looked like a storm cloud, and Junsu grinned at him to see if he would thunder.

"Did Jaejoong send you?" Junsu brushed past, stirring tendrils of grayish blue annoyance.

"One of these days he will," Changmin said.

Junsu made a show of adjusting his gloves. "What do you mean?"

Changmin fell into step with him. "One day he's going to quit turning a blind eye, that's all. By the way, profitable evening?" he added coldly.

Junsu glanced over at him, amused to see yellow swirls of guilty curiosity coiled within black distaste. He opened his jacket and tapped the bulging inner pocket. "I've had better nights, but not too bad." Yellow pulsed brightly for a moment before Changmin averted his eyes.

"I don't know why anyone puts up with you," Changmin muttered.

Truth was, Junsu wasn't sure why, either. Yunho knew -- though he never said a word -- exactly how Junsu spent his evenings and earned the extra cash. Yoochun could probably guess -- and that thought alone was both icy white fear and blue drenched fantasy.

"Because I'm me?" Junsu offered. "What's not to love?" He grinned broadly and Changmin rolled his eyes.

They strolled along the East-West Avenue under floating orange streetlights, transports racing past. They paused at the Grand Intersection and watched New City Hall fold over and into itself, building higher, thicker walls. A crowd of tourists had stopped to gawk, and Junsu sighed regretfully at the lost opportunity to score another tip for the night.

Changmin drew his attention back with lines of vermillion sincerity. He said, "The dream... the city's screams... I can't get it out of my head."

Junsu sometimes forgot that Changmin had never expected any of this. Hadn't grown up with the city's volatile moods.

"It's probably nothing," Junsu said, and it sounded unconvincing even to himself. Recently the city's dreams had been more disturbing and jumbled than ever; even Jaejoong had been troubled by them, and at times they seemed to be torturing Yunho in his sleep.

Changmin resumed walking in silence, and they were midway across the Old Stadium Road pedestrian bridge when Changmin said quietly, "Just tell me why."

His energy was soft and smoky. Junsu reached out to caress the back of his neck but Changmin ducked his head.

"Why what?" Junsu dropped his hand.

Changmin gazed at him, colors mixed and muted. His eyes were deep and dark, cheekbones and jaw sharp, tense. "Why you do this."

No one had ever asked him, but Junsu had always kept a careless answer planned: _for the money_. Faced with Changmin like this, however, he was inclined to tell the truth. Junsu sat on the edge of the bridge's railing, gloves clutching the metal for support. Like every city-made structure, it hummed when he touched it. Sent its song through his veins: sorrow, loss, and confusion.

A chill wind whipped across from the south, carrying the stale scent of the reservoir with it. The wind fingered Junsu's cheek and hair, left a cold line along the base of his throat.

"When you and Jaejoong kiss, there's a burst of silver confetti before maroon covers you both. It's so cute." Junsu smiled, watching Changmin muffle bright spikes of color. "When Jaejoong and I kiss, everything is black and white and it's kind of crazy."

"And you sing to each other," Changmin said quietly. "From within."

Junsu stared at him. "You can hear that?"

Changmin smiled a little. "Yeah. It's beautiful." Fluorescent pink embarrassment surged momentarily as he murmured, "Especially when you're both, uh..."

Junsu laughed. "Oh. Wow, I never knew you could hear us like that." It cast a different light on certain moments when Junsu and Jaejoong had assumed Changmin was sleeping, but Junsu wasn't going to think about that too closely.

A gust of yellow brushed against him. "What's it like with me?" Changmin asked.

Junsu smiled at him. "Oh, you're a rich deep blue. Very calm and powerful. And you sing."

"I do?" Changmin's eyes widened. He bit his lower lip before asking, "Do you sing back? Why can't I hear it?"

Junsu pushed away from the railing. "I don't know why. But yeah, I sing back, Jaejoong sings to you, too. We could tell you couldn't hear us, that's why I'm surprised... huh. There must be a reason why."

"The same reason as always," Changmin said, suddenly bitter, surrounded by copper. "Because I wasn't born a dreamer."

Junsu rubbed Changmin's back. "I don't think that has anything to do with it. Everyone's different, and--"

"That's why you do it," Changmin interrupted, solid white understanding. "Because everyone's different."

"Truthfully, it's addictive," Junsu said. "You just can't imagine all the colors there are, all the variations and combinations. And lots of people sing. Most of them aren't even aware of it, but inside, they're singing all the time."

"And you give them that," Changmin said thoughtfully. "You find it within them and bring it to the surface."

"I try to," Junsu corrected. "You probably won't believe this, but half the time all I have to do is take off a glove. Touch their hand or face. And that's all they want. To see what I'm seeing. To hear something they never heard before. It's not as sleazy as you think it is."

White blanketed Changmin before fading. "I never said it was sleazy... But you do charge money."

Junsu patted Changmin's elbow. "They're tourists. If they didn't pay for the experience, they wouldn't believe in it." Junsu grinned at Changmin's storm grey sidelong glance.

\-----

The last chord lingered and was slowly enveloped by silence in the deserted nightclub. Yoochun flexed his fingers over the piano keys and hesitated. Without looking up he said, "Are you going to stand there all night or come over here and kiss me?"

Yunho crossed over to the stage and climbed up. He sat sideways on the piano bench, straddling it gracefully with long dancer's legs, and draped his arms around Yoochun's shoulders. He kissed Yoochun's cheek.

"I wanted to be here sooner, but the floor show started late again tonight," Yunho said. "The stage kept shifting from stairs to a pit. The audience loved it, but it played hell with the choreography." He flashed a grin, and Yoochun said nothing, playing a few more bars of the song he was working on.

Yunho sighed. "You're still mad?" He caressed Yoochun's hair in slow glides.

Yoochun played a quick ascending scale. "I wasn't mad."

Yunho kissed his cheek again. "Uh huh."

Yoochun shrugged. "You're the one who didn't want to talk about it," he pointed out.

"And I still don't," Yunho said, lips brushing against Yoochun's ear.

_You never do_, Yoochun thought bleakly. And how keeping it inside, pretending like it was nothing, when every day Yunho's nightmares caused him more pain -- contorted his body in cruel dances before he woke, sweating and whimpering -- how this could be better than talking about it, Yoochun couldn't understand. He struck a D sharp, let the note fade.

Yunho slid closer, fingertips stroking the back of Yoochun's neck. "So, are you going to stay mad at me all night?" He touched his lips to Yoochun's throat, just above the pulse point.

Yoochun tilted his neck for Yunho's kisses, cursing himself for giving in so easily. He was still mad, deep down, but not at Yunho, and trying to explain it was only going to lead to another argument. Yunho cupped his cheek and brought their lips together. Kissed him deeply with eager wet hunger.

Yoochun gently bit Yunho's lower lip. "How long will it take us to get home?"

Yunho's eyes glinted. "That depends. We do it your way, take your transport -- about twenty minutes. We do it my way -- instantaneous."

Yoochun wrapped his arms around Yunho's neck. "Damn you," Yoochun murmured to Yunho's grin, and he braced himself for the translocation.

Yunho's aim was so good they toppled to the bed as soon as they stepped through the air. They undressed with grasping impatience and captured kisses. Yunho fell back, was laid out before him, taking Yoochun's breath away with his lean strength, languid repose, lazy control until he unleashed his passion. The damp air resonated with Yunho's soft, throaty laugh when Yoochun collapsed against him in sweaty spent exhaustion.

Muted blue light from the living area lit Yunho's profile. Yoochun watched him sleep. He lightly touched Yunho's chin, lips, the tip of his nose, and whispered, "It's just... I wish I could take your nightmares away." He kissed Yunho's temple and carefully rolled away and slipped out of bed.

Yoochun paused while tying his robe. He looked up into the shadows and saw Jaejoong sitting alone on the other bed, watching him. In the weak light, Jaejoong's eyes seemed to be rimmed with silver and his skin was bare and moonlight pale.

It took Yoochun a moment to steady his breath. Jaejoong was fucking scary sometimes -- it never helped knowing what Jaejoong could do to you -- and also gorgeous and tempting, which was a different kind of scary.

"I didn't know you were home," Yoochun said, keeping his voice low. He padded toward the living area, not before catching Jaejoong's murmured, "Obviously."

Jaejoong followed him, unhurriedly wrapping himself in a robe he loosely fastened around his hips. He stretched, lifting his arms so the sleeves fell from solid sinewy flesh, and his broad chest heaved beneath the thin cloth. Yoochun watched with an appreciation he wished was as detached as he was pretending, then said coolly, "Could you put your gloves on, please?"

Jaejoong narrowed his eyes cat-like and licked his lips. He curved his fingers into claws and grinned before fishing his gloves out of the robe's pockets and putting them on.

"I'm sorry if we woke you," Yoochun said. He hunted around the kitchen for food, opening empty cabinets.

"You didn't. I was already awake," Jaejoong said. He joined Yoochun in the hunt and retrieved two containers of instant noodles. As Yoochun boiled the water, Jaejoong added carelessly, "So I watched you. It was interesting. Sexy."

Yoochun wondered why he wasn't creeped out by this. Just the opposite, in fact. After a pause he said, "I wouldn't have taken you for the voyeuristic type."

"I'm not," Jaejoong purred. "It was very frustrating just to watch. _Very_."

Yoochun met his gaze and smiled, licking his lips. "I'll bet." He poured water over the instant noodles.

Jaejoong touched his arm, his glove deceptively soft. "Listen. About Yunho's nightmares. I know what they're about."

Yoochun froze for a second, but this wasn't exactly surprising. He'd had a sickening feeling it was a city thing, something the others all knew about, something he could never be aware of. He passed Jaejoong one of the cups.

"Yunho doesn't want to talk about it."

"I'm not talking to him, am I?" Jaejoong dug into the noodles with chopsticks and stirred. "Besides, this is about you. I know how to make the nightmares better. I got the idea tonight, don't know why I didn't think of it before..."

Yoochun stared at him. "Wait. What? What's this got to do with me? And how can you cure his nightmares?"

Jaejoong stared back, took a little breath. He removed his gloves and said, "Let me touch you."

\-----

The screeching, wailing, howls of pain... Torture. The city was being tortured. Yunho ran through the streets, but at each turn the city folded up and placed a wall in his path. _I'm trying to help you_, he told it desperately. _Let me help_. But the city simply screamed again.

"I don't know about this," Junsu's voice said.

Yunho opened his eyes, struggling to let go of the dream, and saw Changmin sitting on the bed beside him.

"There's clearly something wrong," Changmin said stubbornly. "You'll be able to see what it is. You touch strangers for money, I don't see why this makes you so squeamish."

"Because Yunho didn't invite me to," Junsu countered crisply.

Yunho sat up, startling them into guilty silence. He noticed Junsu hurriedly sliding his gloves on. Yunho looked from Changmin to Junsu, saying, "I appreciate the thought -- maybe -- but I think you'd better let me handle this my own way."

Changmin's gaze was obstinate. "Handling it your way doesn't seem to be doing you any damn good. We're all having the same dreams, but they're affecting you more than any of us, so something's wrong." He softened a little to add, "We're worried about you."

As was Yoochun, and Yunho hated to be worried over. It made him feel helpless. He fought the urge to grab his clothes and translocate back to the street. He pressed his face to his palms, tried to rub the remnants of the nightmare away, but the screeching wouldn't stop. Yunho said tiredly, "Honestly. I appreciate your concern but--"

A burst of red. Junsu had grabbed his wrist -- when had Junsu gotten his gloves off again, Yunho wondered as he spiraled dizzily into a sea of colors. From a vast distance, Changmin was saying, "What is it? What do you see?" and vivid drops of dark green fell over Yunho like tiny needles. Junsu's breath was loud in his ears, was inside his head, was forcing itself into his lungs, and orange rolled over him like a wave when Junsu spoke, said something incomprehensible to Changmin. Orange and breath, and Yunho was drowning.

Then: green again. Solid this time. A toe-hold. And white around it, an outline. Yunho tasted warmth: yielding, soft, caressing. He and Junsu were kissing. A ribbon of colors -- red and gold and green and yellow -- wound around them, gathering where Junsu's bare hand held Yunho's arm. They both paused, then Yunho deepened the kiss.

No screaming here, no torture. Silence and such peace. And beautiful colors everywhere. Dancing. The colors were dancing and Yunho wanted to dance with them. He curved his body, poured his legs into the air where the colors invited him, and felt the arching, receptive heat of Junsu's body matching his steps. They were dancing in colors in the blissful silence.

Bright pink, spiky silver, blotches of dark grey. Changmin said, "Oh my god."

Slow blue pulses. Yoochun's voice: "What the hell?"

Black and white confetti. "Junsu, love, what are you doing?" Jaejoong asked calmly.

\-----

Jaejoong couldn't see what the problem was. He knew what they needed to do, it was so obvious now, yet the others just stared at him. They sat in row on Yunho's bed: Yoochun with his arm protectively around Yunho, who rubbed his temples like he had a headache, Junsu sitting far apart, shirt buttoned askew and hair mussed, and Changmin at the end, with his arms folded over his chest.

"Don't you see? It makes perfect sense," Jaejoong insisted.

"It makes no sense whatsoever," Changmin replied.

"You haven't explained it very well," Junsu said tentatively, smoothing his hair back into place with his knuckles.

Jaejoong clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting exasperation. He'd explained it perfectly.

"All right," he said with a sigh. "Let me try again." He held up his hand and touched his index finger. "One. Junsu touches me and we sing to each other, but I can't see the colors he does. Two. I touch Changmin, and he can hear the city's dreams and he sings to us, but can't hear me or Junsu singing to him, and can't see the colors, either. Three. Junsu touches Yunho--"

"--and I saw the colors," Yunho cut in.

Junsu clapped his hands and gestured excitedly, nodding. "And we danced together. It's never happened like that before."

"But I couldn't hear anything at all," Yunho said. "It was almost a relief." Yoochun gently kissed Yunho's forehead and patted his shoulder.

Jaejoong waved this off. "Doesn't matter. Each of us gives something else to the others, and together, we'll have everything we need."

"Makes no sense whatsoever," Changmin said again, beneath Junsu's, "Everything we need to do what?"

"Well, I don't know," Jaejoong said impatiently. Did he have to come up with _all_ the answers?

"I think," Yunho said slowly, "the city needs us. Needs our help. I don't know why, but that's what's been in my dreams."

Yoochun frowned and clasped his hands in his lap, glancing away.

Jaejoong smiled. "Yes, see?" At least Yunho understood. And Junsu could be convinced. Changmin might have to be tied down, kicking and snarling all the way, but if that was what it took...

"You're forgetting something."

Jaejoong looked blankly at Yoochun, who met his gaze steadily, and Jaejoong almost flinched from the unhappiness and hurt he saw.

"What?" Jaejoong asked.

"I don't have any of that," Yoochun answered. "I'm not one of you. I can't give you anything."

Yunho turned to stare at him, looking like he'd been slapped. Junsu frowned, cocked his head, and bit his lower lip. Changmin slowly shook his head at Jaejoong.

"We don't know that," Jaejoong said after a moment. "Before I touched him, Changmin couldn't--"

Yoochun waggled a finger from side to side. "Changmin could always translocate," he countered. "You've all had something special inside you since you were born, something connecting you to the city. But I'm just... me."

"But..." Jaejoong didn't know what to say. He was sure he was right, but he didn't know how to make Yoochun understand him.

"It's not true," Junsu said suddenly. "Your music. You can give us your music."

Yoochun drew back, shaking his head. "But that's... It's not the same thing."

Junsu looked at Jaejoong and said, "Yes, it is. We've been singing inside all this time, don't you think we've wanted to let it out?"

"We didn't have a way, until now," Jaejoong finished.

Yoochun looked skeptical but he relaxed a little. Yunho held Yoochun's hand, squeezed it gently. "I think they're right."

Yoochun gazed at Yunho for a moment. He exhaled slowly. "Okay."

Jaejoong glared at Changmin, ready to throttle him if he raised any objections. Changmin sighed, shrugged a little, took off his gloves, and unbuttoned his shirt. Jaejoong grinned and untied his robe.

It wasn't quite the orgy Jaejoong had been anticipating. He'd been right about everything, of course, but he'd underestimated the intensity of the combined effects. When Junsu touched Yunho and Yunho touched him, Jaejoong saw explosions of colors that rained over him and glided into a slow dance. Changmin kissed him, and Jaejoong felt drawn into solid air. After a hesitation, Yoochun was there, guided by Yunho and Junsu, and Jaejoong sang. For the first time in his life he sang out loud, following the music Yoochun gave him.

Junsu sang, Changmin sang, colors swirled and Yunho led them into dances, at last singing, too. When Yoochun's song joined theirs, Jaejoong felt the rightness of the moment: the completion. And around them the energy was strong and powerful purple.

Afterwards it was not silent, but it was serene. The city hummed with renewal and determination. Jaejoong tucked up against the familiar curves of Junsu's body and was blanketed on the other side by Yoochun. Changmin had Yunho pressed against Junsu.

Changmin was the first to speak. "Still makes no sense whatsoever." He yawned. "But I think it worked."

Junsu murmured sleepily, "It was the music. The city needed music."

"The city needs to dream in music," Yunho said. "Otherwise it goes mad."

Jaejoong lazily caressed Junsu's chest, thinking how horrible it must've been for the city for all those years. If only he'd figured it out sooner.

Yoochun said, "So to keep the city balanced, we have to, uh, give it our music? Like, a lot?"

Junsu laughed and Jaejoong grinned. Changmin replied, "Oh, I think so."

"Are you okay with that?" Concern edged Yunho's voice.

Yoochun snuggled against Jaejoong. "Mmmm. Yeah, perfectly okay."

That night Jaejoong slept with peaceful dreams, surrounded by the dreams of others.

\-----

_"In the latter half of the Era of Reconstruction, one of the most enduring folktales was the legend of the five sons of New Seoul, who were supposed to have saved the city from ruin by various feats of magic, including magical singing. In most versions of the tale, the five are brothers; in older versions they are lovers. By the turn of the era, they were known commonly and collectively as the 'eastern gods', though it is unclear if they were considered actual deities. The decorative use of five-figured motifs and the color purple in later New Seoul construction was inspired by these popular legends."_\--A Visitor's Guide to the Upper Asiatic Valley. 4th edition. Conakry II : Singh &amp; Da Yeon Publishers, New Era 2124, p. 11.


End file.
